poetry is a labour of love, but love isn't hope, or light, it can be dark and cruel and inflict conflict in its mayhem and leave bones and forests in it's path.. but what it truly is, is a gateway, from me to you, and to the universe, the language of gods and mortals alike, it is the river that feeds the benign existence, and give life to the corpses circling the purgatory, it is what you want it to be, and it's yours forever to keep and breathe and whisper.